Flotsam Ch 1
by Toad Jr
Summary: A continuation of Firefly, starting from season 2 episode 1.


**A/N: I'm not really a FanFiction person, but I found this old chapter from way back in middle school when I was cleaning my google drive, and figured maybe someone would be interested in it. This was written just after finishing the season, and I wanted to start writing for a second season, but quickly forgot about it. Anyway, it's pretty poorly written, and even more poorly formatted, but what can you do. I own nothing.**

 _If only things worked out on Serenity. If only the gorram ship didn't have a mind of her own then maybe they could get some business done_ thought Malcolm Reynolds bitterly. Ducking under a crimson pipe whose paint had long since succumbed to the extreme heat of the ship, Malcolm continued his slightly lopsided gait towards his destination: the landing gear. Some bright soul had the shiny idea to pass the access tunnel for the landing gear right next to the engines, because no one in their right minds would try to access the landing gear while the engines were on. Turns out, Mal wasn't in his right mind, but he had a meeting to make and he didn't plan on missing it...again.

Narrowly dodging a shoulder height blast of steam that would have no doubt sent him to the grated floor writhing in agony, he sighed and squatted next to a grimy plaque. He pulled his handkerchief out from the back pocket where he kept his lighter, a map of the 'verse, and a wanted poster detailing the likeness of himself he had grabbed while fleeing an alliance friendly bar. The poster itself was not valuable: it was a simple poster made out of thin cardstock, browned at the edges that the bar had put up to keep Mal and his crew out out after one of his more sociable visits prior, but the idea that someone would take time to keep him out of somewhere gave him a warm, fuzzy feeling inside. He was sure that Jayne had hung his poster on his wall, but Wash had thrown away Zoey's poster, all the while yelling at Mal for enjoying the fact that Wash's wife had a bounty on her head and calling him a moron for keeping his poster in his pocket. For, Sheperd forgive, they were captured and the captors found the poster on his person, they would surely bring him back to the bar to be "educated in the ways of civilization", or whatever the Alliance calls it nowadays. But Mal had argued back that if the captors were rummaging around his trousers, the captors weren't going to live long enough to bring him back.

Taking the handkerchief, Mal wiped the plaque until the letters were barely discernable from the black filth that coated the organs of Serenity, and made out: C-3. Brilliant. He had traveled exactly half of the way towards the landing gear, and this was the easy half, in a good fifteen minutes to fix the landing gear for a landing in forty minutes that Mal was NOT going to miss. Grunting in disgust with his lack of progress, Mal radioed in to update Wash. The radio crackled to life, trying to pick up a signal through the metallic maze that was the ship's pipes and wiring. Finally, Mal was able to connect and was greeted with an annoyingly cheery voice.

"Ello, mia capitan-o" chirped the radio, and for a second Malcolm scowled, but quickly realized Wash couldn't see it, and rearranged his face back into his usual state of annoyance. Wash had (unfortunately) picked up a couple old novels about sailing on water for this trip, and was desperately trying to replicate their speech to the amusement of the crew-except for Mal. Refusing to dignify the greeting with a response, he simply waited for Wash to speak again. "Capitan?" This time, Wash dropped the accent he was so fond of and simply used his normal inflections, although Mal could still sense a twinge of sailor in his voice.

Letting it slide, Mal rubbed his forehead with his hand. "I'm going to be delayed. Is there any way you can give me more time and still make the meeting?" He hadn't expected for there to be, and Wash's response confirmed it.

"Unless you're fine with me landing on someone's house, my hands are tied." Wash was an exceptional flier, but like any other man in the 'verse, he had his limits. Mal was only partially listening, weighing his options: he could miss the meeting (which he would not do) or only get partially out of the tunnel before the engines heated the tunnel up, frying him to a crisp. Slowly, an idea formed in his head. "I was joking captain" the radio stuttered. Apparently Wash had taken Mal's silence as considering the proposition. "Even if we managed to balance Serenity on the highly unstable house, the energy released by the engines alone would..."

"I know, Wash" Mal cut in sharply. "Just land my ship as best you can, and I'll take care of the rest." Clipping the radio back onto his belt, he took the now dirty handkerchief and mopped his face with the clean side. He shoved the cloth back into his pocket, stood up and crouched slightly as to not hit his head on the piping above, and continued delving into the ship. He was just about directly under the engines when he heard the most peculiar thing one could hear in a small, dark, sticky place like this: laughter. Despite the constraint of time, his curiosity got the best of him and he listened. He recognized the laughter as Kayle's, and assumed the other voice was the doctor's. Typical. He was crawling through a dank, dangerous passageway while his chief mechanic was twiddling her thumbs and making small talk with the doctor. Not that he would let Kayle do anything that could kill her when he could do it just as well, but nevertheless he was slightly offended that she didn't even offer to do it. She was wasting too much time with the doctor. The doctor. Now HE should be the one doing this, Mal thought amusingly. He couldn't even imagine the doc dirtying his pristine clothes, much less crawling through a dirty corridor to risk his life fixing the landing gear because Mal was too stubborn to miss this meeting. The doc had to earn his stay, and even though he was good at fixing bullet holes and the likes, Mal never quite believed he was earning his stay, with all of the alliance issues that had ensued after harboring his sister, River. That girl was an interesting one. Whatever the doc had done, Mal had to give credit to him for breaking River out of the alliance brain-testing facility or wherever she was. Making a mental note to keep Kaylee and the doc apart, he was about to continue when he recognized the second voice.

"You have such pretty hair." Inara, and by the sound of it, brushing Kaylee's hair. Nope, not going down THAT rabbit hole he thought to himself quickly and, without a sound, moved forward into safer territory.

The heat of the ship was unbearable, almost frying the sweat on his skin as Mal finally crawled past the apex of the heat. Finally, cool dank air greeted his face with welcomed eagerness. Allowing himself a guilty second to enjoy the coolness, Mal finally saw his goal: the landing gear. Mal started crawling towards it faster, and in his eagerness, snagged his sleeve on a piece of loose wire and drew blood. Sighing, he unsnagged his sleeve and, more cautiously, continued until he was finally in arms-reach of the gear. Leaning on his elbow as his wrist was still bleeding, he grabbed the landing fins and started shoving them into place, all the while grumbling about how they could have avoided all of this if THEY had picked a better planet for the meeting. He slid the last fin in place and started working on the webbing. The landing gear had to be perfect if Wash was going to land Serenity on water, and Mal would do everything in his power to keep his ship from turning into a tin can at the bottom of the ocean. The webbing was all in place, and he radioed up to Wash.

"Wash, the gear is now in place." For a second Mal was worried that his message had been lost in the static of the radio, however he heard Wash's swearing and he knew that Wash had heard him.

"Mal, please tell me that you haven't just finished" came the pleading voice over the radio. "Please tell me that you are already past the engines so you won't be fried when I start the landing."

"Trust me, I have a plan."

"You have a plan" came the voice over the radio, the pilot processing the words as he spoke them. "You have a plan" came the radio again, except Wash's slow and deliberate voice was replaced with yelling. "You're about to be fried to a crisp by the engines, suffocate, and probably break every bone in your body. But everything is gorram shiny because you have a plan." Wash laughed, sounding slightly off his rocker. "Captain has a plan" he said, this time repeating the words as if they were a cruel joke.

"Yes, there is a plan. But I need your help" said Mal, and when Wash didn't respond, he continued. "Here's what you're going to do: first, don't open the landing gear until we're in low atmo. Next, don't fully throttle the engine as we break atmo, but burst it in intervals of about five seconds." He could hear Wash draw a breath to protest, but Mal continued on. "Finally, put her down as nicely as you can, no crash landings."

"What's this about crash landings?" came another familiar voice from the radio, and Mal immediately identified it as Zoey, his second-in-command. The last thing Mal needed right now was Zoey's annoyingly sound logic. Dumb luck had worked just fine in the past, and there was no indication that it would fail him now.

"Hey, honey..." Wash said over the static of the radio, and Mal assumed that the pilot didn't want his wife to worry about the idiot stuck on the landing gear. Unfortunately, Wash had never been a particularly good liar (which is partially why Mal had hired him), and his voice was an octave higher than usual. "Nothing's wrong, just talking to myself..." He seemed to trail off as Mal imagined Zoey giving him a look. If he can't even properly lie to his employer, then he must have one hell of a time trying to lie to his wife.

"I see" Zoey simply said. If Mal knew Zoey well, which he did, she was going to have fun making Wash squirm before letting on she knew he was lying to her. Unfortunately, as much as Mal would like to hear that, they were running on a tight schedule, and he needed Zoey's help if he wanted to pull off his plan.

"Zoey" called Mal, getting off of his elbows and resting his back against the cool interior of the ship. "I need your help."

"Where is the captain?" Zoey inquired to Wash, her voice deadly calm.

"I may or may not be sitting on top of the landing gear"


End file.
